


fracture

by nicotinedaydream



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2019-12-25 19:11:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18267635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicotinedaydream/pseuds/nicotinedaydream
Summary: Different timelines where David and Michael both learn the limitations of their immortality.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to explore the Major Character Death tag for this franchise for quite a while. David's character still intrigues me greatly, especially the tight handle he seems to have on his emotions, so I wanted to try writing him in different scenarios when faced with the loss of immortality (namely, death) and experiment with his reactions. Of course, I had to make Michael a key factor to this, because I'm a sucker for the sad shit.

Michael sits on the railing of the boardwalk, feet dangling over the edge as he overlooks the beach and the people laid across the sand. No Surf Nazis tonight, only a bunch of tipsy college students out partying and having a good time. Empty beer bottles litter the ground, and for a short moment Michael remembers the first week his family moved here, when he'd worked that job clearing the beach of rubbish. The sight causes an irrational swell of anger in his chest. They weren't going to clean those up, just leave their trash for some poor guy to deal with the next day.

"Ooohhh, Mikey, starin' at the babes again?" Paul teases from over his shoulder, breath a stale and sour puff ghosting the skin of his bare cheek.

"Get lost," he mutters dryly, twitching at the uncomfortable sensation. Paul hisses a pained laugh when Michael's elbow lodges itself in his stomach. "Shouldn't you be pissing David off or somethin'?"

"Shouldn't _you_?" Marko cackles, jumping up to sit on the railing beside him. Michael growls, moving along the bars to get away from him. Great, now there's two of them.

"Whatever," he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at them both. Paul lifts his hands in surrender, a doped-up smirk on his face. Marko grins widely.

"David ain't gonna like you checkin' out the ladies, Michael," he drawls, punching him in the shoulder. Michael almost does get him back, though sadly misses. Marko dodges his fist and jumps from the railing, pulling Paul with him. They run down the boardwalk, hooting and howling loudly as bystanders gawk at them.

"Assholes," he sighs, resuming his survey of the beach once they're gone. College kids have started lighting joints now. The girls giggle and shake their heads, while the boys share knowing looks between each other as they encourage them to take a hit. Michael scoffs. Typical. Boozy frat boys always wanting to get laid but never putting any real effort in.

_'Didn't peg you as the chivalrous type, Michael.'_

Michael's skin crawls as David's amused voice drifts through his conscience. He glances around, trying to find him in the crowds of people, but having no luck, he replies mentally. _'Lot you don't know about me.'_

_'Sure. You hungry?'_

Michael rolls his eyes. These days, all David wants to talk about is food or sex, which, yeah, is pretty much what the rest of them talk about… apart from Dwayne. Michael's not sure what that guy's problem is. Sometimes, he wonders if Dwayne would have a better life being human instead of the sombre, lurking presence in the hotel, keeping quiet and to himself while the gang talks about bleeding chicks dry and messing up their pretty faces (though that's mostly Paul, the sicko).

_'I'm fine. Fed earlier.'_

The words still feel strange and bitter on his tongue, even though he's been a vampire for a little over three years now and has killed enough people to fill a cemetery. Guess that mortal side of you never really leaves completely. He swears he's seen it in David, too, once or twice; small ticks in his facial expression when he doesn't think anyone is paying attention, like he's remembering how it used to feel, to have empathy and compassion.

"Night's still young, Michael." Michael startles when David's arms wrap around his chest, nearly falling backward off the railing, and he glares up at David's face with an annoyed scowl. "If looks could kill," David chuckles, smirking.

"What do you want," he grumbles, not bothering to pull out of David's embrace. He's already learned that's a battle he'll lose every time.

"What do I want," David says, contemplative, and Michael barely resists a groan.

"I'm not doing this with you tonight, David." He does shrug David's arms off this time, sliding out from under the bars and landing on the sand below the boardwalk. He looks up to see David leaning against the railing, eyebrows raised. "Just don't," he hisses, before storming off down the beach.

David won't follow him; still teaching him how to survive on his own, or whatever. He's had this long to figure it out, confident that he's not going to get himself spiked on a stake or toasted by the sun. Michael wishes David would stop with this education bullshit disguised as playful antagonism. It's exhausting.

_'See you back at the hotel.'_

Michael sighs, almost doesn't respond, but the lengthy silence in his mind makes him realise David's genuinely asking, even though the words don't sound like a question at all.

_'Yeah.'_

Simple, but clearly enough, because he doesn't hear anything in reply, and when he looks behind him David is gone. Probably to round up Paul and Marko. Dwayne would find his own way back if he didn't tag along; always does, being the self-sufficient type that he is.

Michael walks across the shore, toeing his sneakers into the gentle surf lapping onto the sand, and closes his eyes and breathes in. He doesn't need to breathe, not anymore, but sometimes it's nice. It brings back the memories of being human, of being around his family, wondering how they're doing and if his mother has stopped blaming herself like he knows she would have when he disappeared.

Maybe if he'd been paying attention to his surroundings instead of reminiscing, he'd have seen or at least heard the person hiding behind a rock farther up the beach readying an arrow into their crossbow.

***

David and the boys arrive back at the hotel minutes before sunrise. Paul's to blame, as usual; can't control his urges, even now, after so many years under David's wing, so they'd had to clean up after his mess. It's infuriating and brainless. David is about to throw a fit, knock some sense into him, until he realises Michael is not inside the cave. Perfect, just another thing to get on his nerves. Michael should be here. David's taught him better than this.

"Where's Mikey, huh?" Paul asks innocently, no doubt attempting to direct his anger elsewhere. Cocky bastard.

David somehow manages to resist smashing Paul's head into the stone fountain. "Not here," he mutters, glancing around the room. Nothing looks out of the ordinary.

"David," Dwayne murmurs as he nods his head in the direction of the sun slowly rising.

"Where is he?" Marko turns alarmed eyes on him, and David is so caught up in watching the sun's rays gently peak over the horizon that he doesn't hear him the first time. "Where the hell is he?!"

"I don't know!" he snarls, blinks once, trying to narrow his thoughts down and hone in on Michael's subconscious.

_'Michael, where are you?'_

David waits, waits, waits, and the link to Michael he hadn't felt a few seconds before suddenly curls tight in his gut; then, a pang in his chest, like the pull of a thin string about to break, followed closely by a faint whisper in his skull.

_'S-Sun… sun's… com-comin'… u-up…'_

"Boss," Marko says, voice soft, concerned. David is about to snap at him to shut up when he feels another pang, this one sharper than the last. Michael's voice floats into his mind again.

_'D-D-Davi—David…'_

Paul is pacing the hotel, an unusual grace of anxiousness on his face, while Marko chews the thumb of his glove incessantly. Dwayne stares at him, features stoic, eyes sad. David knows he can sense something is wrong, too. They all can.

 _'Let me know where you are. We'll come get you.'_ He waits for Michael to answer, but he can't hear anything. _'Michael, I'm not going to ask you twice.'_

Michael does eventually respond, sounding out of breath. David's quick reflex of aggravation dwindles, and washes away completely in the next moment.

_'I've be-been… s-s-shot… c-can-can't… f-f-f—fly…'_

_'What? When? Who?'_ David shouts.

_'I—I'm… s-s-sorry… I… I—I wa—sn't…'_

"David, Michael's not coming back…" David turns to see Marko fiddling with the buttons on his jacket, eyes downcast, hands visibly trembling, "…is he?"

David bites his tongue to quell the venomous retort he has lined up.

"Marko," Dwayne says, shaking his head. David gives him a nod of thanks, and Dwayne returns it with a small frown. _'Is he still there?'_

David closes his eyes, tries to feel Michael, but there's nothing. He opens them and glances to the opening of the cave, where the sun has now crested and is blooming in half-rays of light. "I'm not sure," he sighs, tired, resolute.

"We gotta find him!" Paul runs to the entrance, but he's shoved to the side by Dwayne before he can make it any further.

"Don't be an idiot, you'll burn," Dwayne says, holding him to prevent him from trying it a second time, but it doesn't seem to faze Paul, who keeps pushing against him. "Paul, _stop_."

"C'mon, we're not just gonna leave him out there?!" Paul panics. David hasn't seen Paul get so worked up in a long time. It's unsettling… but maybe that's just the heavy silence he feels where Michael should be. He can't tell.

"Paul, calm down," Dwayne growls.

"No! No way, man! Mikey's still out there and we gotta find him! _He's one of us_!"

"He's _gone_ , Paul!" Marko screams, uttering the words nobody has been wanting to. Paul instantly stops fighting and sags limply in Dwayne's arms, hair falling in front of his face, shadowing his eyes which are clenched tight. "He's just gone, all right. He's…" Marko mutters.

"Still alive," David whispers in surprise, a weak thread of conscience slipping through into his own thoughts.

_'P-Please—'_

_'I'll take care of it.'_ David knows what he's going to say. _Tell my family I love them. I'm sorry. Forgive me_. He's heard it all before.

_'N-No… D-David…'_

"What's he saying?" Dwayne asks, gaze deafening. David doesn't know, doesn't understand. If Michael didn't want him to tell his family, then what was he trying to—

_'Y-Y-You… p-plea-please… f-f-for—get… a-about…'_

_'What. Forget about what, Michael.'_

'… _m-m-me…'_

Outside, the sun paints the horizon.

And just like that, Michael  _is_ gone.

David hasn't lost one of his own before; isn't sure what to expect, how to feel. In the end, it's like a link has been severed, a gaping emptiness where there should be _something_. The boys are still there but they're tiny, distant, compared to the absence where another should be.

Paul, who's usually always moving, is still, face paler than normal, eyes wide in disbelief.

Marko sits on the ground, knees to his chest, fists clenched.

"David." Dwayne, voice not betraying his own sorrow, rests a hand on his shoulder.

David blinks, shudders, ignoring the touch.

It does nothing.

He hasn't felt small and helpless since Max had made him into this, this creature, where he'd learnt to survive in a world full of dark transgressions. Every fragile, insignificant, _pathetic_ mortal emotion he can possibly think of rushes back into him, filling the empty space left raw and torn open. The reason he never let himself care too much after he turned; you care, you get hurt. But right now, standing here, _caring_ for the first time in decades, the hurt feels like it never left.

David doesn't think it ever will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by 0o_oMomoko_o0 (thank you!) who suggested Dwayne's death and David dealing with Michael by his side. This was definitely a challenge to write, but I enjoyed playing around with the idea.

They should have expected the attack, but they hadn't thought those two snot-nosed brats would have the balls to step foot in their home again after the last time. Marko had nearly died, if it weren't for the kid's terrible aim and Michael's shout of warning before the blow. Turns out, Michael  _did_ want to live forever, and was all too willing to prove his loyalty. They didn't just almost lose a brother that day; they gained one more.

However, apparently coming back to finish the job was worth the high stakes—ha, ha—and this time, their aim was right on the money.

"Eat  _this_ , shit-sucker!"

Dwayne falls from the rafters with a cacophony of high wails and snarls, clutching his chest and rolling around on the ground in agony. David is the first to wake, followed by Michael, then Marko, and then Paul. Michael drops to the ground with a loud growl, baring his fangs at the Frogs who run off yelling obscenities, not waiting around to try their luck a second time.

"Aw,  _shit_!" Paul pushes Michael away as he lands by Dwayne's side, pressing shaking hands to the bubbling mess of his brother's chest. He attempts to pull the stake out but Marko screams at him.

"Paul, don't!" Marko rushes to his brother and knocks him back, turning to David. "David, what do we do!" he panics.

David looks between his boys standing around Dwayne's body. Michael's eyes find his, their cobalt depths dark and enraged. Michael had flocked to Dwayne almost as quick as he had David, bonding with the older vampire over the many months, preferring to trade short anecdotes and participate in both casual and serious conversations with an even-tempered Dwayne than deal with Paul's neuroticism and Marko's tongue-in-cheek humour.

"Nothing," he mutters, shaking his head. There's nothing they can do, and even if there was, David wouldn't know where to start.

"Those little—!" Paul roars, flinging himself at the hotel opening in untamed fury, and Marko has to chase after him and hold him down before he can set himself on fire.

Dwayne has stopped howling now, silent and still, the wound sluggishly spurting around the wooden stake wedged through his heart. His eyes are open, blank and staring, and David sucks in a sharp hiss at the dull ache in his own chest.

"D-David?" Marko whispers, voice strained. Paul struggles in his arms, tears bright and hot. Michael releases a huge breath before turning his head from the sight.

"We get rid of the body tonight," he tells his boys, ignoring Paul's choked sob as he flies up to the ceiling and tries to resume his slumber. Michael follows him, the sound a quiet flap; slow, deliberate, _cautious_.

"David, talk to me," he says. David pretends to not hear. "Davi—"

"Go to sleep, Michael," he huffs, relenting. He opens his eyes to glare at Michael's face, closer than he expected it to be, the sad weight in the younger fledgling's eyes causing him to growl. " _Go_."

"I'm not leaving you like this," Michael refuses. "You're not okay. None of us are."

David wants to say he's fine, that Michael's wrong, is being ridiculous, but the effort to try to prove it is lost on him.

"Michael," he grinds out, the name thick and heavy on his tongue.

"You're not alone." Michael's lips rest against his cheek, soft and warm, and David's ability to lash out at the affection is also absent.

Below them, Marko hugs an inconsolable Paul, looking up at them with dead eyes.

David clenches his teeth and Michael's lips pause, linger, then press gently on the taut curve of his jaw.

"You have us, David. You have  _me_."

The boys drop Dwayne's body into a bonfire on the bluff that night, the wind a cold whisper in the air, spitting embers and curls of smoke drifting up toward the sky. Paul stares into the fire, the blaze illuminating his eyes, hard and sullen, mouth a firm line. Marko is a comforting hand on his shoulder, a nearby source of relief, his own head bowed as tears shine in his eyes.

Michael stands close to David, but not too close, knowing to give him space. If David lets their fingers brush once, neither of them mentions it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My head ain't ready to post this, but my angst-ridden heart is, so here ya go.

Michael's life took quite a turn, from ordinary and boring, to weird and eventful, in the summer he moved to Santa Carla. His parents' divorce rocked the tiny, fractured boat that had slowly been sinking for years; it was a chaotic shift, in what was once a barely functioning household, which sent his flustered mother packing all that was left of their belongings and moving them to the 'Murder Capital of the World'. The large sign they'd seen and the messy graffiti scrawl, uncharacteristically red, like blood, had warned them that this town would be a dangerous place. He remembers how he'd rolled his eyes, exhaled, _"Yeah_ , _right_ , _"_ as his brother's open-mouthed, horror-struck face was glued out of the wound-down window while they drove past.

Well, the sign sure wasn't holding out on any truths.

Michael's memories take him back, back to that night, back when he'd been just about broke and jobless, and he'd chased a girl through the sea of people on the boardwalk, silly and somewhat hopeful he could find a distraction in this shithole of a town. She'd been gorgeous, stunning, way prettier than the girls he'd dated living in Phoenix; silky and dark flowing hair, sparkle in her alluring brown eyes, and a simple smile thrown over her shoulder as she seemed to read his intentions. But then she'd hopped onto another person's bike, the smile never leaving her lips, teasing, now, and that was the moment Michael's eyes had been swayed to acknowledge the owner of the bike.

Michael, unlike his younger brother, never did let his attention linger on other boys, save for the casual glance here and there… but in that moment, all Michael had seen was _him_.

 _Some things never change_ , Michael thinks, delirious. He stares up at David, the vampire looking almost like an angel in a lambent halo of silhouetted light above him, blond hair outlined by the blazing bonfire in the opaque sky behind him.

Michael feels the wood grating against his ribs, close to his heart, so fucking close, but not touching, and lets out a weak groan. He'd never realised, actually realised, after all these years of being a vampire, that this new life was still a dangerous place. You could die, even if you were supposedly immortal, and hunters like the one who'd poorly staked him loved to prove that point whenever they could.

"You're a fucking moron, you know that," David growls at him, lips twisted into something feral, something ugly, and Michael's own mouth lifts up; a stupid, dizzy sort of grin.

"Yeah," he slurs, closing his eyes, struggling against the need to rest, to drift to places unknown. "I know."

"Oh _shit_! Davey, is he okay?" Paul sounds way too high on the blood of his enemies. Typical Paul. Michael chuckles, chest aching when he does so, force of his chuckle pulling the stake further into his ribs. Ow, okay, not a good idea.

"DOES HE LOOK OKAY!" David roars, voice inhuman, more snarl than speech. Michael opens his eyes blearily and looks up at Paul's confused, worried face. David's enraged one, eyes glowing, jaw clenched.  

"S'kay… m'kay…" he murmurs, slapping a hand out and catching Paul on the shoulder. Paul doesn't look persuaded. His eyes finally settle on Michael's chest, and as they notice the stake, they widen.

"Holy shit, Michael!" he shouts, a jarring and hysterical pitch to his voice. Michael nearly chuckles again, before he remembers the stake in his ribs, and decides he doesn't want to have the last laugh.

Marko and Dwayne find their spots beside him, copious amounts of blood staining their clothes, skin and mouths, almost neon in the orange flicker of the bonfire. Michael looks between them, looks past the bright and garish blood and animalistic carnage, and recognises the fear on Marko's face, probably reliving his own near-death staking by the Frog brothers those many years ago, and Dwayne's small frown.

"You didn't have to do that," Dwayne says, deadpan. Michael shakes his head with a tired grunt, and out of the corner of his eye he doesn't fail to see David's expression shutter.

"I did," he replies, his throat muscles raw and dry. He wants blood, warm, fresh, heavy, wants to feel drunk on it. Maybe it'll stop this pain, heal him, though he knows that's not going to happen.

Michael knew, when he jumped in the path of the stake about to slam straight through Dwayne's turned back, that he'd be sacrificing his life for his brother's. Lucky for him, the surprise of Michael throwing himself in front of his stake caused a short lapse in the hunter's movement; the stake had found its target, just not as accurate as intended, pushing through his skin, his ribs, but not quite hitting his heart.

"No, you didn't," David spits. Dwayne doesn’t seem phased by David's lack of care for what could have happened if Michael hadn't stepped in the way of the stake, his intense gaze unwavering from Michael's face.

"You're right, I didn't," Michael agrees, and he smiles, humourless. "I wanted to."

"I would have done it," Marko says. Michael is surprised at the rare, gentle texture to the young vampire's voice.

"Same here, Mikey," Paul adds, helpful as always.

Dwayne's eyes say he would have, too, and Michael feels David's arms tense around him. He would have, also. They all would have. Brothers protected their own.

"What now?" Paul asks after a few seconds, his voice quiet and serious for the loud and overexcited character he usually was.

"We get him to the cave," David says, firm, an order. Michael rolls his eyes, tired, hurting.

"No," he mutters.

" _What_ ," David hisses, glaring down at him.

Michael swallows, sighs, resigned, feeling the stake nudge closer to his heart again. "You can't move me, David."

"You’re not staying here." David's word-growls apparently suffice for a proper response. Michael does laugh this time, biting his lip against the scream that nearly follows.

"I'm not staying anywhere," he says, once he's able to speak without coughing up a lung. David understands his implication, because the vampire's face goes pale. Michael doesn't think he's seen that expression before—at least, not since he'd pushed David onto the antlers in his grandpa's house those many years ago—and the shock causes him to laugh again. "Christ," he croaks, closing his eyes and gripping David's arm.

"Guys, what's goin' on?" Paul stammers, small and scared.

Michael faintly hears Marko's rough, "He's dying, man."

"No! No way, Mikey! _Fuck that_!" is Paul's aggressive, unbridled burst of language.

Michael snorts, a behaviour he realises is so commonly associated with Paul, but freezes as his ribs shift, stake pressing inward, and it's then that he realises it's grazing his heart because the sensation is ten thousand times worse than anything he's ever experienced before. He looks at David, struggling to find the words to communicate what he wants to say, but whatever's in his eyes must be enough.

"Leave us," he snaps at the boys. For someone who didn't know him, it would have probably sounded cold and indifferent. But Michael _knows_ David, and he knows this is just emotional dissociation; the use of callousness as an escape from dealing with what he is actually feeling.

Paul, who really was a softie underneath that goofball killing machine act, is trying not to cry. Marko is, too, if covering his face with his gloves is any indication. Michael hasn't seen any of them cry, not once, and he's definitely never seen Marko use his gloves for anything other than chewing in a thoughtful or impish manner.

Dwayne, however, acknowledges the situation more carefully; his leader's anguish, under the guise of a simple instruction. He nods at Michael, slow and solemn. Michael think he'll miss Dwayne the most. His calm, strange, almost whimsical demeanour was something to behold in a vampire. Something he would have wanted to learn, if he'd had the chance outside of David's unsavoury teachable ways.

"You're all gonna be okay," he murmurs, wincing when talking turns out to be a horrible idea, an electric throb of pain lancing through him.

They'll be okay. They have each other. They had each other before him, they'll have each other after him. _They'll be okay._

"We won't," Dwayne says, his tone flat, but forgiving at the same time, as he puts an arm around Paul and Marko's shoulders and nudges them to move.

Marko goes without much of a fight, but not before he gives Michael what he can only describe as the saddest puppy look he's ever seen, and that's including the ones with Sam he had to ignore on a daily basis. Paul doesn't want to budge, not moving an inch, until Dwayne sends a hard glare in his direction, and his teary eyes catch Michael's as he gives a spiritless two-finger salute.

Michael attempts to let slip a small thread of reassurance through their bond; one that he can feel slowly fading as each second passes. He receives strong and heartbroken returns from both of them, where Dwayne's is mild and more controlled, but with an additional trail of thought.

_'Rest easy, brother.'_

Michael gives the brunette a weak nod of reply when he hears the low murmur trickle into his own mind, and watches as Dwayne leads the other two boys away.

When they're alone, Michael looks up at David, struggling to feel through their bond. When a quiet few seconds pass and he finds nothing, he gives up. Michael is going to close his eyes, try to die somewhat peacefully, but is interrupted by David's voice in his mind.

_'Ask me.'_

Michael blinks, surprised, and also confused. He tries to deliver a thought to David, but a hot spasm wracks throughout his limbs, and his face twists in agony. David's eyes widen a little, then narrow. He places a hand on Michael's chest, just under where the stake is, and his voice rasps as he says softly, "You only have to ask."

 _Ask you what_ , Michael thinks, almost feverish with the pain coursing through his body. He blinks dumbly up at David, trying once more to push a thought toward him, and this time is able to, much to the expense of a spark of white-hot heat inside his head.

_'I don't know what you want me to—'_

_' **Michael**.'_

Michael is taken aback at the force of his name, rattling sharp and heavy through the bond between them, and within that is a torrent of pain… but not his own. He stares up at David, looks into his eyes, and is stunned to see a faint glint in them that is not firelight.

Was David…?

"Y-You're crying…" He says the words before he's realised they've left his mouth, swallowing down a groan of pain, speaking still not doing him any favours.

"Don't talk," David says, harsh, but not unkind. Michael, as much as he wants to refuse, tell David he's not giving up that easily, knows by the situation and David's serious expression that he's got no choice.

Michael grimaces as David's hand grips around the stake, not pushing, not pulling, just holding. He glances up, seeing the faint glint in David's eyes turn into a glimmer of a tear.

 _Ask me_.

David's words from earlier return to him, and he understands now.

"Y-Yes," he murmurs, biting his lip against another onslaught of pain.

"I said not to talk!" David snarls, eyes amber, fangs sliding out from his gums in anger. Michael coughs, light-headed and too fucking emotional to do anything but chuckle, then regret it when the stake in David's hand shifts again. David must feel it, and in the same moment comprehend _what_ Michael had said, because the gold in his eyes lessens, fangs receding, his face almost startled.

"What did you just say?" he says, aghast.

Michael doesn't respond in words or thought; instead, he lifts a shaky and weak hand and gingerly wraps it around David's own on the stake, then looks at him, pleading, and nods, the _do it_ unstated but not necessary.

David seems to stare straight into Michael's soul, if he even still has one, and it's not until his hand trembles under Michael's, does Michael realise…

David doesn't want to do this, but feels like he has to.

Michael smiles, small, lax, at peace _,_ as he squeezes David's hand.

 _'I-It's okay…'_ he whispers through their bond, a tough feat considering he's losing it, the connection dying, like him.

A tear falls, and drops onto his lips. Michael's tongue darts out slowly to lick it, taste the salt, sweetness, pure emotion; the little things David never shows or shares. He breathes in, not needing to, but wanting to.

"Close your eyes," he hears David instruct, tone low and hoarse.

Michael exhales the breath he's holding, closes his eyes, and feels David's hand guide the stake into his heart. His body arches up, an explosion of agony overwhelming every fibre of his being, and he chokes on the blood and bile rising in his throat. Through it all, he refuses to let go of David's hand.

_'Let go, Michael _ _…__ '_

Michael hears David's voice, shallow under the pounding in his head, the fizzling pain in his heart, and it sounds so unlike the David he knows; sincere, broken, _lost_.

Michael's memories take him back, back to that night, back when he'd been cold and afraid and hanging off a damn bridge, the boys taunting him to let go.

David calling to him, to let go.

_' **Michael** … **let go** _…_ '_

Michael's not afraid anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno guys. This one came at me out of the blue. David taking responsibility for Michael's death made me want to write something, but I had to go and make it depressing as hell. Trigger warning: suicide.

Michael looks into the mirror, at the glass void holding a translucent ghost where there should be a healthy reflection, and sighs. He's tired of pretending to be okay all the time, around his mother, Sam, and… _them_.

Max's plan to become the head vampire of an immortal household had been successful, with hardly any hiccups, unless you counted those two comic store kids. Alan and Edgar. Michael can remember their names, their faces (their tears, their screams) and it never fails to leave a sick feeling in his stomach. They had been annoying shits, but they hadn't deserved what happened to them.

Sammy, his little brother, the baby of the family, who could never have hurt a fly before any of this, had slaughtered his friends. No remorse. No crying. Nothing. Michael doesn't like to think about the lack of emotion in his brother's eyes as he had drained the two boys of blood—of _life_. It was a nightmare worse than anything he could ever possibly imagine.

A nightmare he's still in, and cannot escape.

Max, his mother, Sam and the boys had departed for the boardwalk earlier in hopes to feed. Max had patted him on the back beforehand, giving him a fatherly pep talk, the usual kind, the one where he politely insists on Michael joining them. Michael had declined, shaking his head, like he has done since this nightmare began.

He won't do it. He can't. He's not meant to be a vampire, a killer, a literal bloodsucking monster. He's human, half, whatever, but he's not _that_. Never.

David has been the only one, other than Dwayne, who hasn't tried to convince him to hunt with them. Michael's not sure why, but he appreciates it, more than he'd care to admit. David was always complicated to read, difficult to interact with full stop, and talking to the blond about these insecurities would be more burdensome than mentioning any of it to Max.

Michael looks into the mirror's dull reflection, at his eyes, the once cyanic blue now a waxen grey. He wishes he could turn back time, not have to be this hungry and hollow thing, teetering on the fine line between the living and undead.

He just wants this nightmare to end.

***

David's got a girl by the throat, fangs piercing the arterial vein, slick warmth gushing into his mouth, when he feels it. Whatever _it_ is, it's not good. Something is wrong. He doesn't know how, but it is.

Dwayne, who's beside him, a bloody and limp young surfer guy slumped in his arms, shoots him a concerned glance. "David?"

David drops his victim at his feet, ignoring her weak groan as she hits the sand. Paul will finish her off, if not before Sam does. Kid's always got an appetite.

"I have to go. Tell Max."

"What's wrong?" Dwayne's eyes narrow. It's not like David to stop in the middle of a kill.

"That's what I'm going to find out," he mutters, flying up into the sky before he can hear his brother's response.

***

 _Blood_. There's so much blood, it's everywhere, red, red, red. David takes a few steps closer, and he sees what is wrong.

In the middle of it is Michael.

Michael is the _source_ of all this blood.

"Michael!" he shouts, unable to keep the crack from his voice. Later on, he'll be able to realise that it was fear; something he hasn't been capable of feeling in many, many, many years.

Michael's eyes are open, barely, the rise and fall of his chest a short, strained movement. His gaze flits around the room, awkward, lazy, but when it finds David, there's a sudden clarity.

"D-David?" Michael mumbles, almost in shock, and the situation smacks David in the face a little more.

Michael is surprised David is here.

Michael hadn't been expecting someone to find him.

Michael was killing himself, and he had believed he would die alone.

David feels anger first, then sadness, then disbelief, then rage.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing," he snarls, grabbing Michael's wrists and squeezing his thumbs over the sliced flesh.

Michael's eyes widen, mouth open in a grimace as he lets out a gutting noise of pain. Blood pumps beneath his fingers, and David's fangs itch under his gums. It's a reminder that he hasn't fed enough tonight, that this isn't going to work.

David releases his grip on Michael's wrists, the blood flowing freely again. He stares at the mess around them, staining the bathroom floor, soaked into the material of Michael's shirt and jeans, and grinds his teeth at the sight, the _smell_.

"… _do it_ …"

Michael's voice is quiet, but the gravity in it is so loud that David's snapped out of his hunger, his attention now on the boy.

David doesn't understand, and is about to growl something sharp and barbarous to crush the imbalance of it all, until he notices Michael struggling to lift his wrist, his eyes pleading, face pale and weary.

"S-She can-can't… see m-m-me… l-like t-t-this…" Michael murmurs, shaky, tears the only shine left in his murky black pupils.

"Lucy," David says in lieu of a reply, not sure what else to fucking say. Michael can't be serious.

Michael nods, the movement almost not manageable, head flopping to the side. David catches and supports it before it slams into the edge of the bathtub, cradling the boy's face in his hands as it lolls tiredly. Michael uses the opportunity to look into David's eyes, and beg.

"D-D-David, _p-please_ …"

David knows what Michael is asking, and somewhere deep inside his conscience, there's a voice telling him not to, that it isn't _right_ , Michael is _theirs_ , they _cannot_ do this… but then, then Michael begs him once again, desperation clawing behind his eyes, and the overwhelming and compulsive fire of hunger in David takes pity on him.

"This won't hurt," he promises, even though he knows it probably will, maybe a lot, before he presses his lips to a bleeding wrist and begins to drink.

***

Michael's eyes flutter as he feels David hold onto his wrist, then a mouth clasps over the wound and applies a wet, sucking pressure; then, a slight pinch. David had said it wouldn't hurt, and it doesn't. It's almost gentle, soothing, the pull of blood from his veins, a relief from the sting of his cut flesh.  
  
He starts to feel his body go numb a minute or so later, his head swimming with vertigo, and in a moment of disparity he weakly lifts his other hand to curl his fingers in David's hair.

"T-Thank you…" he whispers, running them through the blond strands.

***

David flinches, startled, when he feels fingers stroke his scalp, hears Michael's slurred mumble of gratitude. However, he continues to drink, the blood slippery sweet, like soft liquid velvet.

Michael's hand in his hair begins to slow, all of a sudden, thirty seconds later. David can hear the boy's breaths fading, just like the low murmur of his heart. He refuses to stop drinking, even after the last unsteady beat echoes into silence, and the hand in his hair goes limp.

David stops drinking when the thirst is suppressed, but also when he's sure he can face what he's done. He stares at Michael, at the boy who wouldn't turn into a killer, who would rather bleed out in a bathroom alone, would rather be drained by David, than to become one and join his family.

David stares at Michael, his pale blue eyes, half-lidded and vacant, awareness no longer in their depths; his lips, loosely parted, the smallest curve of a smile. _Free_. He leans down to kiss them, for a second, if only enough to wonder how they'd feel warm and responsive instead of cold and still.

***

By the time Max and the others arrive, David has already left Santa Carla. Michael's body lays in the middle of the bathroom, slumped against the bathtub, blood pooled around him in a large puddle of red, and both his wrists are punctured by an identical pair of fang marks.

Lucy is the one to screech.

Max comforts his wife, his beloved, as she sobs in his arms. He watches her son glare at the scene, tears threatening to spill in his eyes, fists clenched. His remaining three boys leave the room immediately, and he knows they won't be back. David is gone. They'll follow.

"That fucking asshole killed Mike!" Lucy's younger boy howls. Max hums in disappointment.

Indeed. Maybe this whole family idea wasn't such a good plan, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see David framing Michael's suicide as a murder because he knows the truth would destroy Lucy. I can't help but feel like David is still capable of empathy and being able to grasp human emotion, even though he's been a vampire for a long time now. However, I also think Michael is a huge part of why. This chapter was to hopefully punctuate that.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to know your thoughts on how you think David might handle death. Any other feedback is also welcome, as are prompts/ideas for future chapters/scenarios.


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